A Dream Come True
by Alone in the Desert
Summary: When Joren visits home before his Ordeal, what does his family have to say to him? Standalone


A Dream Come True 

Joren of Stone Mountain was riding into his ancestral home with mounting excitement. It was late autumn; the next time he came up this well-remembered path he'd finally be a knight. For years, even when he was too young to even be a page, he'd known in his heart it was his destiny to do proud to his heritage and the blood of his forefathers, to serve his king. He'd seen himself in full armor, with the gold eagle of Stone Mountain shining fiercely on his shield. 

It was no effort at all to stop in his tracks, be still and recall the dreams of his childhood: the brave Sir Joren charging fearlessly to battle; the proud Sir Joren tall upon his white stallion; the mighty Sir Joren, bane of Tortall's enemies. But only fools and cowards dawdled when there was work to be done. He was not a child who could indulge in dreams but a man, a squire about to turn knight. He must not forget. 

His entrance triggered a flurry of welcome. Dismounting, Joren left the courtyard and entered the great hall, knowing his family was expecting him. His father stood in the doorway, waiting. "Welcome home, Squire Joren," he said, "for the last time, I hope." 

Joren's face broke into a smile. "We have no reason to doubt it," he replied, and his father smiled in answer. 

"That's my son," his father said with warm affection. 

His mother rushed across the hall and hugged him, tears in her eyes. His younger siblings crowded around, wanting to hear tales of brave deeds or news from the war, each by his age and temperament. Only the oldest of them hung back. 

"Aren't you glad to see me, Reyla?" asked Joren with a smile. 

Reyla smiled back, but her face was sad and pale, her eyes dim and shadowed. 

"Joren! Joren! Tell us a story! Did you see a giant? How many enemies did you kill? Tell us!" 

He cast another look at his sister, but she was already turning away, so he succumbed to the pressure of the children. Geana wanted to know if he'd saved a pretty lady from a wicked dragon. He told her, earnestly, that he hadn't, but once he was a knight, he'd go looking for one right away, so he could make her his wife. The girl looked disappointed, so he promised her he'd tell her a bedtime story he knew about a knight long ago, who'd done just that. 

The afternoon was worn away just as easily as that. Joren sighed as his mother lit candles in the hall and sent his younger brothers and sisters up to wash and sleep. He only had this half-day; he'd be leaving before dawn the next day, to rejoin his knight-master. If they did not make for the royal palace now, the roads might not be clear for long enough before Midwinter - before his Ordeal. 

One thing he was thankful for – his father made no mention of the mistake, or the unpleasantness that had followed it. There was nothing to mar the pride of his family on this momentous occasion. After all, nothing was more important to a knight than seeing pride in his father's eyes – except perhaps, seeing it in the eyes of his overlord, retorted a bitter voice within him. You'll never have that. 

He moved closer to the fire. 

"Do you have time to talk?" 

"For you, always," he said fondly, as Reyla picked a seat next to him. 

"Your Ordeal is this winter," she said needlessly. Why was her face so sad? 

"Yes," he agreed. 

"I saw something." Hairs prickled on the back of Joren's neck. His elder sister was the only Gifted Stone Mountain in three generations. 

"Joren, I _saw_ something!" Her hand gripped his wrist, her eyes looked into his, terrified, tears in them. 

"Shhh, Reyla, don't fear, it'll be alright! Everything will be alright!" he soothed. 

"No!" she sobbed. "Everything will _not_ be alright! Don't go, Joren! Don't leave!" 

"But – " 

"It'll kill you!" she screamed silently. 

He was quiet, shocked. 

"If you go to your Ordeal, it'll kill you. I saw it." Reyla was calmer now, speaking plainly. 

"No." His jaw was set; he had not worked so long, sacrificed so much, strove so hard to be the best, to turn back on the eve of his victory. The dream was far too close to forsake. 

"But – " said Reyla, her eyes tearing again. 

"No, Reyla." His hand rested on her mouth. Tell no one. 

The next day, before dawn, he left. And he never came back. 

__

Disclaimer: Tortall, the Ordeal, and Joren of Stone Mountain are the property of Tamora Pierce. Reyla of Stone Mountain is my own, as is the plot of this story. 


End file.
